


Ink My Whole Body (I Don't Give A Motherfuck)

by The_Divine_Fool



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Consensual Underage Sex, M/M, Oneshot, Recreational Drug Use, Swearing, Tattoos, bonus art, whoa sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-12 23:15:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Divine_Fool/pseuds/The_Divine_Fool
Summary: Cartman gets a pair of sleeve tattoos. Kenny thinks it's devastatingly hot.





	

**Author's Note:**

> well, this is about as close to a one-shot as i can manage -- it really wasn't supposed to be this effing long. i got a little bug in my brain about cartman having tattoos, and just got carried the hell away with it. also, i don't rate these things because i don't think sex is like, taboo. but whatever, fuck me.

Kenny didn't notice anything off until Physics class, one rainy Tuesday morning in November.

He slid into the classroom with the sound of the bell on his heels, and fled immediately to the back of the room where he usually shared a table with Kyle.

"Close one."

Kenny sighed his _I don't give a fuck_ sigh and huddled down over his elbows, hoping the hood of his parka might block out the noise and activity in the room. He'd been feeling -- and this really wasn't surprising, considering his past experiences with death and dismemberment -- detached, lately. High school was even more of a terrific bore than he'd predicted; it'd only taken him two years of effing around in this dickhole to realize it. It was the bells that killed him; a bell to put you in your place at all times of day, a bell to tell you when to eat and when to piss.

Foster was just closing the door when one more student slipped in around her. Kenny's eye caught on the hockey bastard and stuck -- he was a violent strike of red against the pale gray morning.

Cartman headed straight for the back, and settled in the empty chair at the table in front of him and Kyle. To Kenny's surprise, the girl sharing the table immediately issued a greeting, turning a smug half-smile on his old friend, like she was fa _mil_ iar or something. _Who is that?_ Kenny racked his brains -- Park County High School was packed with nobodies from a hundred fucking hick-towns, so he couldn't always stick a name to any given member of the junior class.

Foster hit the lights and started up her PowerPoint presentation on -- the Range formula? Fuck, Kenny thought they were still doing _gravity_.

The classroom was even more pale and gray when the lights were off, and since it was red and right in front of him _any_ way, Kenny stared at Cartman's back. Since when was he that -- _jacked-looking?_ He wondered.

"Since he joined the ice hockey team freshman year, probably," Kyle muttered, his pen scratching over his notebook.

"I thought he was the _goal_ -keeper," Kenny whispered. Goal-keepers were all fat-asses; it made sense.

"Dude, when's the last time you've been to a game? He plays wing now. I heard they wanna make him captain next year."

Kenny hadn't gone to a game since freshman year, he guessed. They weren't really _friends_ anymore; Cartman had split off from their group the second they hit the larger public school system -- it was like releasing a shark into a tank-full of its favorite food: dumb schooling fishes. And then he turned into one of those big athletic bastards who hustled people for their lunch money and only hung out with _other_ big athletic bastards. But -- how did Kyle know more than _Kenny?_ Wasn't -- wasn't Cartman s'posed to be _his_ best friend? Maybe not in practice, but in theory -- 

Kyle shrugged one sharp shoulder. "I had to go to his place the other day, pick up some shit. We talked for about three minutes."

" _What_ shit?"

Another shrug. "I bought a dub off the asshole, alright?"

"A what?"

"A _dub_ ," Kyle said again, finally turning his honey-brown eyes on Kenny. "Where've you been, man? Cartman supplies weed to like, the whole school."

 _Holy shit_.

Kenny worked at processing the information while eyeing the ripple of his old friend's shoulders under his hockey sweatshirt. Eric getting into the minor-league drug trade really wasn't that surprising. Kyle Broflovski _buying_ from him was a little surprising -- but Kyle had been going through a rebellious phase since they turned 13, so he guessed this wasn't so out of the blue.

The girl -- Twomey, Kenny suddenly remembered her last name -- was far more interested in Cartman's arm than her notes. Kenny watched her pluck at the black sleeve, and giggle when he pulled away. He kind of wanted to puke.

"Who the fuck is she?"

Kyle heaved a sigh over his notebook. "Jesus -- she's only been in this class with us since the start of the se _mes_ ter."

"I don't recognize the back of everyone's fucking head."

" _Two_ mey. She's the captain of the girl's hockey team. They're pretty good."

Of course -- athletic bastards stick together. She was beautiful. _Why_ did she keep fucking around with Cartman? And making those flirty sounds? _What the fuck._

"Kenny -- can you, relax, maybe? I can't focus."

"Are you seeing this?"

"I'm trying really hard not to."

"Since when does Eric Cartman have _game?_ "

"He was going with the younger Twomey a few weeks ago. Guess it didn't work out." Kyle drawled.

" _Huh?_ "

A few people in the back rows glanced back at Kenny and Kyle's table, including a narrow side-eye from Cartman. Kenny hunched down and tried to hide in his hood. He couldn't remember the last time he'd made _eye_ -contact with his best friend, but it shouldn't've felt so butt-fucking _awk_ ward.

Kenny spent a miserable forty-five minutes watching the elder Twomey sister fuck around with Cartman -- and boy, was she fucking around. All the usual tricks; she laughed at every noise he made, reached over to write shit on his notes, and kept picking at his sleeve like he was hiding fuckin' Juicy Couture under there or something.

By the tail end of the class period, the Twomey girl had managed to cuff up the sleeve a few inches -- and Kenny's breath caught. There were _lines_ there, inked lines moving all over Cartman's wrist and continuing up his arm. Kenny was trying to phase through the goddamn table for a better look. 

"What's wrong with you, man?" Kyle muttered while Kenny just about bruised his ribs against the edge of the table. 

"Cartman's got _tattoos_ ," he hissed. "No -- he's got a fucking _sleeve_."

###### 

"Are you sure?"

"I'm _pos_ itive -- had to watch that Twomey chick throw her fuckin' tits at him all period just trying to get a look -- "

"I didn't see anybody throwing their tits harder than you."

"Fuck you, Kyle!"

"Dude," Stan chuckled. "I've never heard you throw down as many f-bombs as you have in the last ten minutes. What's the big deal?"

 _The big deal?_ Kenny thought. _The big_ deal _is my under-age best friend is getting inked up and hit on by dumb athletic chicks_ \-- 

"That's not fair, Twomey's pretty intelligent."

"Your best friend?" Kyle interrupted in a voice dry as sandstone. "Have you guys even hung out in the past two years?"

Kenny really needed to clamp a lid on his thoughts. Either Stan and Kyle were telepathic or Kenny wasn't half as quiet as he thought he was.

"Where is he, anyway? Fat-ass never misses a lunch period."

"Probably the smoking patio. He's been going there during lunch all semester."

Kenny stood up. "I'm gonna -- I'm gonna go check it out."

###### 

Kenny slipped out the cafeteria's fire exit, flinching when it closed behind him with a damning slam. He pulled his hood up against the brisk November chill and his own buzzing nerves and glanced around the parking lot. Several dark groups of milling students were huddled against the brick walls of Park County High. He picked out the goth crowd, the skater punks, and a smaller group of guffawing dudes led by a familiar red shape. He started moving along the wall, but realized he didn't have even the twinkle of a plan how to interact with his old friend. Would he even be the same? _Of course he will,_ Kenny thought -- Cartman didn't change. 

"Oh-ho, look who it is," Came a familiar, drawling voice. All the cawing dudes looked up at once, pinning Kenny to the wall. "Guys, look -- this is my _best friend_ Kenny McCormick."

And fuck, if that didn't just make a guy super uncomfortable, since Kenny hadn't really been his friend since they started high school. 

"Hey, man," Kenny said, shuffling into the orbit of the group.

" _Hey_ ," he responded with really nasty, sarcastic emphasis. Cartman's eyes were a sort of metal-brown like copper, just going red in the middle. They made Kenny feel small.

"You got dope to sell?"

"I don't sell _dime_ bags." He said, and the goons laughed like they'd fuckin' paid money to come stand around and listen to him.

Kenny felt his face burn up. He was third-degree humiliated and regretting every single thought that led to the self-flagellating decision to _seek out_ Eric Cartman. Of _course_ it would only be the same shots at his income level, and what could he even _say?_ He really _didn't_ have the cash to throw around for Mary Jane. He'd only wanted to sneak a glance at his old friend's new life.

"Oh my god -- fuckin' re _lax_ , would ya?" Cartman said, suddenly grabbing at his shoulder and pulling him into the group with a half-headlock maneuver. "God, look at him. This is what happens when you hang out with Broflovski all the time, see? You turn into a fucking tight-ass."

 _What the fuck_ , was the flashing destination of Kenny's thought-train. He realized the arm around his neck could probably choke him out if it really wanted to, and even though Kenny was used to being pulled around by taller dudes -- Stan did it all the time -- it was different because it was _Cartman_ doing it, and the danger of the situation was sort of paralyzing. In an instant his nose was filled with the smells of old deodorant and unwashed polyester and the faint musk of old smoke -- Kenny was caught in a strange wasteland between feeling bullied and feeling turned on. _Wait... no._

"Come home with me today," Cartman said, and Kenny finally looked up at him, surprised. It really _had_ been a while since they hung out. Shit was so _bo_ ring without Cartman around. He felt a sudden surge of desire for his best friend -- like, a desire to have him back in his life. Like before.

"I'll show you the shit. Hell," He continued, and his eyebrows quirked up briefly over his red-brown eyes -- it was sort of devastating. "I'll even let you taste it."

Kenny was a half-brain cell short of stunned and couldn't gather the wits to answer, but he managed to straighten up and eye the goons milling around him. Stan and Kyle's worst fear had been realized: Cartman had found a _crowd_. High school had a place for everybody, it seemed.

"Mc _Cor_ mick," the stranger to his right lisped. "Can't believe I'm finally meetin' ya in person -- you're even hotter than they say."

Another one snorted loudly. "Sure, maybe if he wakes up wit some new braces. Hey, do th'girls complain about all them jagged edges?"

"Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Tomcat." Cartman said. "Maybe if ya _brushed_ your crumby teeth once in a while, you'd have more game."

The guy spat on the asphalt and scuffed it away with his shoe. "Least they're _straight_ \-- "

"Oh, _please_ ," Cartman spat back, and nearly jabbed out his fucking eye bringing his hand over Kenny's face to push his hood down. "Look at 'im; McCormick could pimp out his damn _year_ book photos."

Kenny's thoughts were a burning trainwreck; while the motley crew around him shoved and chattered, he turned inward and watched the chaos in his head as it tried to decide on where the line was exactly between bullying and flirting. Kenny had been called hot before, by some of the girls he went with -- but no one'd ever told him he could pimp out his yearbook photos. Nobody had a way with English like Cartman, he remembered.

The arm tightened over his shoulders. "Anyway, lemme introduce you to some of my favorite cunts in this place -- "

He pointed out each of the four dudes with increasingly baffling introductions -- "the kid Axel," "Tomcat, future drop-out," "this guy who wrestled a puma once," and "Filthy" -- but Kenny barely registered any of their faces, staring instead at the hand doing the pointing, since it was curled around his damn neck and all. He could see right close up where the sleeve of Eric's sweatshirt began sliding up his wrist. A maze of dark blueish-green ink started timidly at his knuckles, then thickened and tangled over his wrist to disappear up his arm. How far did they go? Kenny wondered. What were they _of_ \-- what did they _say?_ _How do I get a better fucking look._

"Hey, McCormick," lisped a voice to his right. "You ever had a space monkey?"

It was the kid Axel -- Kenny guessed, because he didn't even look like he should be in high school yet. "What's a space monkey?"

Cartman snorted on his other side, and he was just close enough to feel the gust of air on the shell of his ear.

The bony Hispanic-looking kid grinned a slightly gap-toothed grin and continued at his gentle lisp: "Space monkey's when Eric here sits on your chest till ya hyperventilate and pass out."

"Gets ya _real high_ ," he added with a wink of one doe-brown eye.

"I don't want one o' those. Thanks."

The goons erupted in another round of hyena giggles.

"Heard yer givin' tours of bear country," said the guy with the crumby teeth. Tomcat.

"What?" Cartman sputtered.

Kenny shifted from one boot to another. "Who told ya that?"

"Heard it off the grapevine, didn't I?" Boy, Tomcat sounded a lot like Kenny's trailer trash dad. He bet they lived around the same neighborhood.

"I remember telling the grapevine to shut its fuckin' mouth."

"How much for a tour?"

"More than you can afford, dude," Kenny said. "I only give 'em to tourists and thrill-seekin' rich kids."

"Seriously?" Cartman said, red eyes boring into him. "I didn't know you were messing around in bear country."

"I didn't know you were a fuckin' _drug_ dealer, bro."

The guy called Filthy handed off a cigarette to his friend, and Kenny watched him take it with the arm around his shoulders and lean _way_ too fuckin' close to stick it between his lips. His eyelids curled up around a quick drag and Kenny eyed the ink on his knuckles. 

"Anythin' else you didn't know?" He said, blowing acrid smoke into his face and passing the cig off to the guy who once wrestled a puma.

 _The list is growing every fucking second,_ Kenny thought. "You goin' with that Twomey girl?"

"Which one?"

"The one tryin' to cop a damn feel all through Physics."

Cartman drew back to bark a laugh, and Tomcat answered: "It's the ink -- can hardly wear a shirt b'fore the bitches lift it all up."

"' _Can I read you?_ '" said Filthy in a high, wheedling voice just slightly more annoying than his apparently natural, high, wheedling voice.

 _Can_ I _read you?_ Kenny thought desperately. "You goin' with her or not?"

"Not." He said. "You'd have an in with her if you'd take off the damn hood for once."

Kenny shook his head. Nothing interested him less, at the moment. "Who hooked you up with those, anyway?"

"My boss."

Kenny perused his cluttered, unorganized memories from the last couple years. Cartman worked at... that fuckin' Indian restaurant at the dirty edge of town, what was it called?

"India Palace," Cartman supplied, and Kenny felt the odd sensation of someone else's hand toying with one of the silver studs in his ear. 

"I always thought that place was a front for the opium trade, or some shit."

Eric laughed his cruel laugh. "Close."

"Lou does a tidy trade in bud, mostly -- straight from Cali, as a matter of fact," lisped Axel. "But he's been makin' some cute goodie bags for the cocaine business, lately."

 _Christ_ , Kenny thought. _He's running with some Indian drug lord?_

"Dude, Lou is straight from China."

"And he runs the local Indian joint. Why am I not surprised."

Suddenly Cartman released Kenny from his hold, shoving him aside too, for good measure, and shook down the sleeve over his left hand to check his watch. Kenny noticed that the other arm was also covered in tattoos -- he eyed it with the desperate fascination of a starving man sizing up a plant that could either save him or kill him.

"Twenty minutes left. Let's get moving."

As Cartman's motley crew started walking out to the parking lot, Kenny stuck to the wall and glanced over at the fire door.

"Let's take McCormick," he heard the kid Axel say. "We could use the extra hands."

The next thing Kenny knew he was being pulled from the shadows and led into the parking lot by a gentle but insistent hand at his back and a pair of similar dark-rimmed eyes. "Sheesh -- you're even hotter up close."

"Are you in high school, even?" Kenny couldn't help but ask.

"Ax," Cartman said, as they caught up to the group. "Don't whistle at girls who're out of your league."

"What're we doing?"

"See that car?" Axel lisped, pointing out a hideous green Fiat at the edge of the lot. "You know whose it is?"

Kenny shook his head.

"Doesn't matter whose it is," Cartman said.

"Principal Coffer's ride," Axel whispered conspiratorially.

"What're we doin' to it?" Kenny asked, feeling a thrill shoot up his spine -- his delinquency meter was running abhorrently low. Leave it to Eric Cartman to get it going again. Why didn't he think of this before?

Axel chortled. "Would'ya listen to that -- he's already in, and don't even know what the plan is."

"Plan's simple," Cartman said. "We're gonna move it."

"You got the bastard's _keys?_ "

" _No_ \-- I got five dudes and the fuckin' _will_ power, McCormick. There's nothin' we can't do."

"Doesn't take much to lift a car, actually," said the guy who wrestled a puma once. His voice was almost deeper and richer than his skin color.

He was right; once all six of them were spread out around the Fiat and had their fingers under the kit -- after the initial effort of getting it off the tar, carrying the car between six people was no more taxing than juggling a good-sized flat-screen TV between two. They walked the Fiat out of the parking lot and then set it down a little less than a quarter-mile down the entrance ramp to the highway.

Kenny stepped back after they set it down, damn near giddy with laughter. This shit never got old -- or, he hoped it wouldn't.

He heard a sharp _clack_ and a large yellow window-paint marker invaded his vision. Kenny lifted his eyes to Cartman's. He lifted his thick brown eyebrows -- so Kenny took the marker.

"Windshield's mine," Cartman called, approaching the displaced car with his own marker in hand.

Kenny tagged the side of the car with an old slogan of his: _Yellow Wolf_ , and added some extra flourishes to finish it off with a nice graffiti aesthetic. Axel dropped in to add a big speech bubble on the driver's side door that read, simply: ' _FUCK YOU!'_

Kenny nodded and moved back to the front of the Fiat.

"Really?" Kenny snorted, as Cartman finished up his drawing. "The vein's a nice touch, man -- you've got better since Middle."

His best friend stepped back to join the rest of them and admire the art.

"A big, hairy, veiny dick and balls," Tomcat said gleefully, and spit onto the salted pavement. "That's our principal."

Cartman checked his watch. "Fuck, we gotta go."

###### 

Kenny was just about to slip through the fire door behind the guy who once wrestled a puma when a sharp tug on his hood brought him up short -- and the door slammed a few inches from his nose.

"I said come home with me."

"We've got half the _day_ left -- "

Cartman shrugged. The kid Axel hovered at his side, a flurry of jerky ADHD movements: bobbing heels and flapping arms. 

"Look -- you wanna go with me or not?"

"I took the bus," Kenny said, and took a step away from the school.

"'Course you did," he said, and began to saunter around the edge of the faculty parking lot with Axel on his tail. Kenny followed.

How long had it been since he'd been in Cartman's car? He wondered. Few months, or a year maybe. Eric drove a junky Volvo sedan, an S70 model from 1998 that he inherited secondhand and bitched about for the whole first year after they got their licenses. He was lucky to even _have_ his own car, when Kenny was stuck riding the bus or taking his dad's old truck out. Besides, Volvos made great sleepers; they looked like junk on the outside, but Kenny was pretty sure that, with the right tools, he could probably mod up the car with a Turbo engine.

"Shit, seriously?" Cartman said, wiggling the key around in the driver's side lock to crank open the door. "What d'you need?"

"A mechanic's shop and a new engine," Kenny snorted. "But yeah -- this thing is rolling potential, I swear. Street racers don't drive the flashy stuff, at first."

Axel slid into the backseat so Kenny took shotgun, sliding into the familiar gray-pleather seating with a lingering, sinking feeling of guilt; should he really be jumping out on classes today? His attendance record was already pretty poor, and he couldn't afford another fucking truancy law-suit; they'd assigned a damned _parole_ -officer to him freshman year -- he even had the damn radio anklet to prove it.

" _Duude,_ " Axel suddenly keened, like he was getting a killer massage or something. Kenny glanced back at him.

"I know, I know," Cartman said, pulling out of the lot. "This song is so fucking sweet."

 _Oh_ , Kenny thought, resettling in the passenger seat and feeling like an outsider. When did his best friend get -- _friends?_

"Copping the beat machine was such a good move -- "

"Right?" Cartman said, and tapped at one of the sticky dials on his stereo system. "You hear these drums?"

"Quest love," Axel sighed.

"God, black people make the best fucking music."

Kenny snorted. Eric's favorite artist was _Eminem_ \-- if his memory was working right -- which was pretty fucking predictable; Kenny swore the two of them were twin souls: foul-mouthed, crazy sons of bitches with a _star_ ving eagerness to offend.

"And Marshall is a fucking god, yes," Cartman said, reaching over Kenny's knees to slam the glove compartment shut almost on his fingers. Kenny pulled his searching hands back and matched his friend's glare. " -- but he's using an _African_ American vehicle of expression, without which he would just be sticky-handed white trash. Like you. Don't dig around in my shit."

"Slim is good, yeah -- " Axel called from the back. "But did he go triple platinum with no features?"

Cartman's snatched the hacky-sack from his broken cup holder and whipped it at the back seat. " _Old_ , Axel -- get something new or shut the fuck up!"

"Hey, he's on _your_ speakers!"

"That's because," Cartman sighed, finally settling two eyes back on the goddamn road. "This song is fucking sweet."

"Anyway, McCormick," he continued, reaching up to flip the sun-visor and catching the CD that fell out, then offering it to Kenny. "I'm giving you this because you're my best friend. And if you wanna go with me, you needa _ed_ ucate yourself. I'm not playing Yelawolf all the time just 'cause you can't move your ass out of the trailer park."

The name of the album was _4 Your Eyez Only_. He was back to that strange territory of feeling both bullied and loved.

"People don't buy this shit," he was saying. "You remember _Faith + 1_ , right? It's just like -- "

"What's _Faith + 1_?" Axel said, snorting. "Sounds like a dirty Christian dating RPG."

"I started a Christian rock band when I was ten," Cartman explained, glancing at the back seat in the rearview mirror. "To win a bet I made with Broflovski that I could go platinum before his band."

"What 'appened?"

Kenny turned to the back. "He took a bunch of pop songs, replaced the word 'baby' with 'Jesus' -- and sold a million fucking copies."

Axel's eyes widened comically. "No _way_."

"That's my point, right?" Cartman said, gesturing over the steering wheel as he started to get worked up. "People _buy_ that shit -- I mean, they really buy into it, and then the good shit just kind of bumps in the background until the artists are shot or commit suicide. It's de _pressing_. America is broke, man."

"But I guess," he abruptly picked up his train of thought. "America made _me_ , so that's chill too."

Kenny huffed with laughter; this was the kind of shit he remembered. Cartman always had a rant, _always_ , and he was so full of himself, but -- pretty fuckin' cute as well.

"Hey, Eric," Kenny started, remembering something -- then kind of licking around the name 'cause it felt sort of awkward on his tongue, like something he'd never tasted before. "Uh, listen, man -- don't be smokin' those cigarettes; I've watched too many distant McCormicks get fucked up by lung cancer to wish that on my best friend."

Cartman snorted, reached over the console to pull at Kenny's hood: "Idiot," he muttered. "That was a spliff. Besides -- only the good die young."

They pulled off the main roads and up the drive of a familiar hellhole: Park County Middle School. Cartman braked and unlocked the doors. "Go, Ax -- pretend to be at school."

There was a chorus of shifting and thunking and jangling as Axel gathered his shit and opened the back door. He paused on the sidewalk to lean back in the car and lisp: "It was cool meeting you, McCormick."

He almost laughed at the kid's politeness. "You can call me Kenny, dude."

"Shit, really? This is so awesome."

Cartman toed the pedal. "Shut the damn door."

"Cute kid," Kenny remarked as the Volvo turned back onto the main roads. "Where'd ya find him?"

"Working under the table at the Palace," Cartman said. "And I mean that in, like, the financial sense, and the physical. It's actually pretty gnarly stuff. And you know he's getting the back-door Mexican wages; so basically, hard candy."

"I was earning under the table at that age too, man. It's never easy."

"Yeah but you weren't out late hustling -- you were runnin' around in a fuckin' superhero costume."

Kenny frowned. "You really ruined that for me, dude."

"And it still makes me laugh, thinking about it," he chuckled, rolling up his sleeves, and baring the sleeves beneath them.

"Fuck me, man -- those are _some_ thin'," Kenny said -- staring at the labyrinthine pattern of ink, broken by pictures and words in black and gray -- then rethought his word choice about a hundred times, but it was already too late, so he followed up with a quick question: "When'd you get these?"

"Last summer," he said, with no more expression than another flick of his eyebrows. 

"Musta cost a _penny_."

Cartman shrugged. "I woke up in a new Bugatti, dude. I mean, not really, obviously -- since I'm still driving this piece of shit -- but I'm raking it in with this weed business. There are a lot of pathetic, self-medicating fuckers out there; high school is like a captive, idiot market with only one supplier."

"Kyle, too?"

"Kyle's a nervous wreck," Cartman said, propping one wrist on the top of the wheel and resting the other hand on the gear shift between them. "He wants to piss off his parents, and I'm too fucking happy to enable him. Jew money is money."

Cartman had these really nice, long piano fingers. Kenny dragged his eyes through the tapestry on his forearm; the biggest part over the radial muscle was taken up by the portrait of a woman crying blood and ringed in thorns. Hidden inside the tangles were numbers -- dates, maybe -- and then the thorns faded into the labyrinth again down around his wrist. Kenny picked out a familiar-looking plant winding around the underside of his arm -- fireweed, he remembered. It was native to the area, and grew mostly in the ashes of burned land. He thought he saw a pair of cat's eyes --

"Kenny, _ba_ by, are you even listenin' to me?"

"Did you just call me... baby?"

"Got your attention, didn't it? You haven't been listening to one fucking word I've been saying for past five minutes."

Kenny shook his head and felt some of the bouncier thoughts clatter around. "Sorry, man -- you kind of talk a lot. And I space out."

Cartman rolled his eyes. "You haven't changed at all."

Kenny shrugged, stretched out in the familiar seat with a sigh. "I missed this piece of shit, actually."

"I missed you too."

 _Jesus_ , Kenny thought, _when did he get cute? When did he fucking get_ cute _all of a sudden?_

__

"Y'know," Kenny said, feeling a few brain cells successfully rub together for the first time since he opened the fucking _fire-exit_ \-- no, since that Twomey girl started putting her hands all over his best friend that morning. "I didn't realize how nauseatingly mundane life was until we stopped hanging out."

"Had your fill?"

Kenny turned his head, did a once-over of the hockey-playing, drug-dealing bastard in the front seat, and made up his mind. "Yep."

"You know, you haven't been to a single one of my games this season," he said, glaring at the road. "What's up with that? I've -- I've fuckin' seen _Marsh_ and that day-walking growth on his arm more of'en than you."

"I got an uncomfortable boner at the first game."

Cartman's double-take nearly flung them into someone's yard, but he recovered in time to leave the mailbox mostly upright and the side mirror was duct-taped together anyway. "Ah, shit -- you're fucking with me, aren't you? I forgot you hate sporting events."

"I don't go to Stan's football matches either, dude -- the only places to sit that aren't ass-to-ass, cheek-to-cheek with cheering meatheads are like ten miles away from the actual _game_ , I can't see a damn thing, and I leave after twenty minutes with bleacher bruises on my tailbone."

"You oughta -- wear your fucking glasses, or something."

"I hate my glasses." Kenny grouched, staring out the window at the familiar frozen landscape. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been out driving on a weekday afternoon -- everything was so _quiet_. "Besides, even if I _did_ wear them, I'd still never see the fuckin' puck."

"Don't watch the puck. Watch me slam Adams County juicers into the boards."

Kenny laughed. "I was about to ask why you even joined up with hockey -- but it all kind of suits you."

"Told you guys I had a hockey body. Hey -- quit fuckin' _laugh_ ing, would you?"

"Dude," he wheezed, trying to can his laughter and failing. "When you said that -- you were like, a hundred and ten pounds of hot pockets and Eggo waffles -- "

"Fuck you!" Eric snarled, delivering a bruising knock to Kenny's arm. "I was a sick goal-keeper."

"You were bigger than the goal."

"Yeah, well, now I'm like 70 kilos of badassery and way the fuck bigger than _you_ , McCormick, so -- don't throw stones if ya live in a glass house."

And Kenny's eyes finally turned to his best friend without getting caught on the sleeves, and he had to maybe agree with Cartman on one thing: he _did_ have a sweet hockey body. It had been tough to see beneath the childhood obesity, but puberty and Eric's outdoors nature had wrung the softness from him; he'd never be one of those lean buff guys like Stan, but he was obviously someone you'd think twice about fucking with -- and if you knew him like the South Park kids did, you wouldn't fuck with him at all.

"Where's your mom?" Kenny asked as they pulled into the empty driveway of Eric's house. "I have to walk this way to get the bus stop, but I never see the mobile command center anymore."

"She's on business a lot," he muttered, pulling the emergency brake as the Volvo settled into park with a crunch and groan. "C'mon."

###### 

Cartman's room was just how he remembered it -- only it had endured a sort of explosion of laundry and assorted junk collections since he'd last visited. There were a few well-worn trails over the carpet that wove through piles of clothing, paper, hockey-tape and hacky-sacks, super-soakers and laser guns; one trail led to the bed, one to the desk, and one to the electric keyboard in the corner. 

"Sit down. You're looming. I hate when people loom."

Cartman pushed past him to take a seat at the cluttered desk. His only choices were the bed and the bench in front of the keyboard, so he sat down at the keyboard and spun around to watch his friend work. The stereo system around the desk was pretty fucking impressive; between the two standing speakers was a monitor set to audio visualization, and Kenny let the pulsing patterns of colored spirographs lure him into a trance as they bloomed and collapsed to the tune of the music. A tray was laid out on the desk over Cartman's laptop, surrounded by empty and half-empty cans and bottles. Energy drinks, it looked like. Kenny's stomach rumbled. 

"Anythin' to eat in the house? I'm starving."

His shoulders jerked once as Cartman snorted over his task. "You're _al_ ways starving."

"I cut my lunch short to move a fuckin' car -- seriously, you got anything to eat?"

"If you came here just to get a meal out of me, you're outta luck," he said coldly. "There's nothin' in the house."

Kenny stood up and padded over to the desk, narrowly avoiding a catastrophic collision between a Lego and his sock-feet, and hovered at Eric's shoulder. He sensed a bad mood coming on, and he wanted to nip it while he could, but also felt a burning curiosity -- was his mom actually on business? 

"So," Kenny hummed, his hands flicking out to toy with some of the trinkets at the edge of the desk. "Mum's out, you spend lunch on the smoking patio -- what're you eating, then?"

Another snort. "Energy drinks, mostly. I've got _bus_ iness, now; don't have time to learn _cook_ ing."

"Well, that's a -- terrific diet plan, you got there." Kenny poked at the makeshift lamp; it was a plastic skull stuck over a bare low-watt light bulb.

"The fuck's up your ass? I got it worked out -- one Nos is like, a quick 500 calories."

"That's not how nutrition works."

"Oh, please, enlighten me on the everyday-Poptart lifestyle, Rachel fuckin' Ray. Will ya _stop_ dicking around with my stuff?"

Kenny drew his hands back and clasped them behind his neck for something to do, and watched Eric's hands work at rolling a joint. It looked like kind of a delicate task -- watching Cartman perform it should've been like watching a bear handling a toothbrush; but he was pulling it off with practiced ease. Kenny was just shifting away from the desk when something else caught his eye: a few tendrils of ink on the back of Eric's neck, made clearer as he hunched down over his work.

"What are you -- "

Without thinking, Kenny had already moved to pull at the hood of his sweatshirt to get a better look. "Yo, how far do these _go?_ "

Cartman shrugged his hoodie up again, blocking Kenny's view, and huffed a breath over his shoulder.

"So that's why you only wear sweatshirts. Has the school noticed? Y'think they'll call up your mom? Does _she_ know?"

He didn't answer a single fucking question, so Kenny dropped to a squat at his knee and looked him over for a second. Kyle wasn't the only one going through an angsty, rebellious phase, he realized. Though of course Cartman took it to a whole new level. "I really wanna see them," he murmured.

"That's what all the bitches say."

"I'm not one of the _bitches_ , dude, come on. You said I was your best friend."

Cartman dropped the card he'd been using to scrape the weed into a line, and stood up abruptly, muttering under his breath. Kenny thought he might've pissed him off for real this time, but then Eric was gripping the back of his sweater and pulling it over his head. He sat back down in a white T-shirt that exposed both sleeves all the way up to his bicep, then disappeared under the fabric before reappearing around the neckline. Kenny wanted the whole thing off, but supposed this would do.

"I didn't realize, when I got them," Cartman said, picking up his rolling papers and plucking one out to start wrapping around the filter he'd made from a thin strip of card-stock. "But if tattoos mean somethin' to you, then whenever people look at them -- it's sort of like letting strangers read your life."

"You designed them?" Kenny said, tracing a finger over the brambles ringing the crying woman. 

"Obviously. I don't do anything halfway. Half-baked going into it, maybe, but the plan was solid."

"Who's this?"

"Our Lady of Sorrows."

"I know this -- this is fireweed. And... are these cat's eyes?"

"Kitty died last year. I was pretty messed up about it, actually."

Kenny looked up at Eric's tired red eyes, suddenly feeling like the century's shittiest best friend.

"This is all shit you've been through, then?"

He shrugged. "Felt like if I didn't _put_ all those memories somewhere, they'd all just go away, you know?"

"But I remember a lot of that shit, too, and -- I'm not gonna go away, dude."

"I thought you already did," he said, a hair too quiet to be sarcastic. "Quit touching me, will ya? I'm almost done with this, anyway. Getchu higher than you ever been b'fore, I promise."

Kenny stood, stuck his hands in his pockets and turned to the window. "I don't smoke, man."

"You've _never_ been high?"

Kenny leaned against the sill and shook his head.

"Oh-ho _shit_ ," he heard his friend chuckling. "I fuckin' love poppin' cherries. Hey, check it out."

As he turned his head, Cartman pulled open the bottom drawer on his desk. It was filled with weed. Kenny had seen an ounce once -- it was maybe the size of a softball and worth about three-hundred bucks at 'market' price. The drawer was _filled_ ; Kenny was looking at a fortune.

" _Fuck me_ ," he breathed, moving closer to eye up the green. 

"It's not shit, either, look," Eric reached down took one of the larger plastic bags in hand, flipping it over for a better angle. "This one nug is probably half an o. And last summer... shit, man, I'm seventeen -- and I've seen a hundred Gs, in _cash_."

Kenny's nose scrunched up at the musty, dense smell rising from the drawer. It was the same thing he'd smelled off his friend's arm earlier, but hadn't been able to place it.

"I just -- I know beautiful shit when I see it. I used to only _dream_ about ruling the world, you know? Anyway -- " The drawer shut with a _thunk_ and Cartman stood up, holding a baseball bat-shaped joint out to Kenny. "Here."

Kenny took it tenderly by the filter, and stood paralyzed by the window as his best friend brushed past him to shut the bedroom door and kick a towel under the crack.

"Huh-huh," He returned to stand in front of Kenny, chuckling low. "Lookit you. Relax, Yellow Wolf. This is what kids our age are s'posed to be doing."

"You _hate_ doing what you're s'posed to do."

He winked again, the motherfucker. _Why's he so good at that_. "That was a joke, McCormick. What they don't know is -- weed is just one more vehicle of expression. You can use it right; and you can use it wrong."

Since Kenny was holding the thing like a damned zombie, Eric took it back with a roll of his copper eyes and lit it up with a few flicks of a lighter. Smoke gathered between them, pouring from his best friend's nostrils like dragon's breath. "Good shit," he sighed his appreciation. He took two hits and held it out again.

The smell was one of those things that was half-unpleasant, but once you smelled it, you kinda wanted to follow it and see where it went. Kenny had a hunch it was leading him down a rabbit hole, and Cartman was grinning through the haze like the fucking Cheshire cat.

"Shit, you should go with me," he said suddenly, after a few passes.

"Where?"

Cartman laughed a loud, bitter laugh. "I dunno -- anywhere. I'll take you hiking in Jeff County; you ever watched the sun rise out there?"

Kenny shook his head, and immediately regretted it; his thoughts were sloshing around like muddy water in a pot-hole, and he couldn't pick out which ones were the most important, or which things should or shouldn't be said. The audio-visualization monitor was taking him through a Willy Wonka tunnel of terror.

"Don't look at it, then." Cartman said, and forced him around to face the window. Looking out the window was much better, actually. But then his friend's bare arms folded over the sill at his side, and the dips and whirls of the ink labyrinths were even more captivating when the sunlight dashed against them, bright white from the reflection off the snowy ground, and backlit by the smokey orange glow from the skeleton lamp.

"Mother _fucker_ these are hot." Kenny said, for the millionth time in his head, and the first time out loud.

"I bet I could get my boss to help you out, if you wanted something." He said, eyes hooded and carefully apathetic.

"Nah, I don't -- I don't gotta mind like yours; I can't just _vis_ ualize this shit the way you do." Kenny thought absentmindedly that he oughta watch his speech; every time he got relaxed he started slipping into his low-income, townie drawl. Eric used to take the shit out of him for it. "How do you even -- ? I mean _Jes_ us..." 

Cartman drew away from the window, pulled down Kenny's hood for the umpteenth time, and shuffled over to his keyboard. "I play the piano, dude. This melodramatic shit's in my blood."

He sat at the keyboard with the joint hanging from his lips and lifted his tattooed arms like a big thug parody of Johnny Depp. 

Cartman barked a laugh, glanced over his shoulder at Kenny. "Except I don't sell _blow_ like your boy J.D.."

"He only did it that one time," Kenny said, and turned to the keyboard. "Shit, man -- I was gonna come over there, but it's a mine-field and my legs feel like carrots."

Cartman raised his eyebrows and scooted over to make room on the bench.

Kenny started edging along the desk, used the chair for support and averted his eyes from the colorful diagrams on the visualization monitor.

"Kill the music, huh?" Eric called. "I wanna play something."

"Oh, fucking hell -- " Kenny muttered, turning his watery gaze to the maze of wires and bumping speakers. "I can't -- brother, I really can't -- "

A breath over his shoulder, and an arm like a reeling graphic novel grew from behind his neck to push a button on the stereo. Kenny sighed with relief as the monitor finally blacked out. He was pushed and prodded toward the other side of the room and then fell to the bench beside his friend. "Got the spins?"

"Mm," Kenny confirmed.

"You sit for a while," Cartman said, taking another toke and blowing smoke over the keys. "THC's gonna settle down, and then you're gonna stand up and be _finished_."

Kenny groaned. "You like this? I mean you really like this feeling?"

Cartman lifted a hand to flutter a gesture around his ear. "Control it. Control it, McCormick -- and free your mind." And then his fingers settled into the piano keys.

This time the audio-visualization monitor was behind Kenny's eyes, and watching his friend _make_ the music was ten times more entrancing than just listening to a recording. He recognized the melody from something a long time ago -- something from when they all went through their rock and metal phases in middle school. Kenny didn't bother sifting around in his scattered memories, and once he relaxed, the very one he was looking for floated forward on its own free will. 

"The Mosquito Song," Kenny hummed, watching Eric's long fingers and tracking the way the ink danced over the movement of his metacarpal bones. It was a Queens of the Stone Age track, one of the hidden ones from the end of an album he didn't remember. It was such an eerie, _melan_ choly song -- not at all like the explosive, ranting personality he associated with Cartman, but -- he was starting to realize that, maybe, there was always that bit of contrariness inside Eric, and when faced with conformity, contrariness sometimes turned to anger, rebellion, and then -- melancholy. Kenny was sort of in love with it. All of it.

"You got good teeth, McCormick," he said quietly over the sounds of the keys. "You should show 'em more."

"That's funny, I must be remembering some _other_ fat bastard ripping on me for having crooked teeth all these years -- "

"What? Okay -- maybe that _one_ time -- "

A laugh tore itself from Kenny's throat and he couldn't seem to clamp a lid on it. When he finally stifled the noise, he noticed Eric staring at him, staring at his mouth. "Wait, you actually -- you actually like them?"

His only response was a single arched eyebrow. 

"Well, shit." Kenny said. "I wish I'd known that, like, a hunnit fucking years ago, man."

"Why?" Eric said, suddenly swimming close in the hazy air. "What the hell would it change? I'm still gonna rip on you for them."

Kenny took a deep, shuddering breath and felt like he was sort of taking it straight from his friend's mouth. His red eyes had gone pink with capillaries at the the corners, and Kenny wanted to touch him, kinda -- trace his fingers over those damn eyebrows, maybe.

Cartman leaned away again, snorting. "Well? Are you higher than you've ever been? Of course you are."

"I know I'm hornier than I've ever been."

Another snort. "Yeah, that can sometimes happen."

"Weed makes you horny?"

"It's a _veh_ icle, remember? It's not comin' outa nowhere, but the high will enhance it. So you just gotta, like, quit thinking about that Twomey chick, or whatever."

 _How could I_ possibly _be thinking of someone else with you in my face?_ Kenny thought.

"Shit, we should go together."

 _Huh?_ Why did he keep saying that? _Go_ together, _go_ with me -- _wait just a goddamned minute..._

"Eric -- have you been asking me to _go out_ with you this whole time?"

"You're not like the bitches at all, McCormick," he said with an audible eye-roll. "You're way more fucking clueless."

###### 

The window sill was digging uncomfortably into his back, but he'd have to phase through his best friend's hips to move away, so it was sort of the last thing on Kenny's mind. The rest of it was occupied by the riotous burning sensation of Cartman's mouth on his -- Kenny didn't know if it was the weed or the pure in _sanity_ of the act, but he was on _fire_. His hand had moved to grip at the short hair at the back of Eric's neck, and when it moved up to get at the longer bits, met resistance from his stupid snap-back. The sound of the hat _thunk_ ing to the floor brought Kenny back to full consciousness.

" _Holy shit_ ," he said, and realized he needed to catch his breath. "When did we start _neck_ ing?"

Cartman pulled away from the corner of his mouth with a loud _mack_ \-- and opened his eyes, half-lidded and hungry. "When you said my sleeves were hot."

"Wha -- ?" Kenny had to squint around the heat burning up his face and settling low in his crotch. "Uh, I think I'm travelling though time."

"Oh," he said, pushing Kenny's arms down and backing away. "Damn. We could -- chill for a second?" 

He'd barely blinked before Cartman was back at his desk, plucking open his laptop and starting up the stereo system. "Hey, wanna play a round of _Need for Speed: Underground?_ I wanna show you my new car, it's so dope. Just a Mazda, but like, the RX 8 isn't such a chick car. We can forget that ever happened, too -- if you want."

Kenny wobbled forward away from the window and brought a hand to his forehead. Did he want to forget that? Mostly he was trying to remember it, but he was too baffled by the rhythm of Cartman's voice; he'd never heard it sound genuinely _ner_ vous before. He wouldn't mind a round on the XBox, actually -- _wait just a damn minute..._

"Hold up," Kenny said, then cleared his throat 'cause he sounded like a fucking _chain_ -saw. "Can we be best friends, and still make-out?"

Cartman shrugged. "Do I look like the kind of guy who gives a shit about labels."

_No._

"I coulda been the fucking president," he continued, and Kenny could see he was getting worked up. "But instead I let a Chinese dude with a homemade tattoo kit jab at me for six hours in the back of an _Indian_ joint -- _twice_ \-- don't you _get_ it? If you just follow the fucking _train_ tracks all the time, the best you can be is the guy with one eye leading a nation of the blind. I don't want that -- I got _two_ eyes and when I make my fucking decisions, I'm not _look_ ing at those other assholes. You wanna hump _train_ -tracks your whole life, McCormick -- or d'you wanna manifest your motherfucking destiny?"

"And isn't _that_ America?" He demanded. "Isn't that fuckin' A _mer_ ica?"

Eric Cartman was officially the most recklessly contrary person he'd ever met.

"Man, I thought _Kyle_ had the dirty after three minutes of talkin' to you -- but he's really missing out."

Eric blew an exasperated breath from his nostrils and flapped his hand dismissively. "Kyle doesn't understand any of this. _You_ see him, gettin' his rank up, taking notes -- Kyle's so deep inside the train he doesn't even notice the tracks, and now they're hitting rocky territory and he's wondering why everything smells like _coal_ all of a sudden."

He stood up again, but didn't move anywhere. "He's not like us."

Kenny remembered his radio anklet and the truancy suit. He even felt its phantom weight at his ankle and shook out his foot, curling a lip. _Never again_ , he thought.

"That's what I thought," came Cartman's low voice, suddenly right in front of him again. Kenny lifted his eyes to his best friend's red ones. "Kenny -- you wanna go with me?"

 _Anywhere_. "You don't do this for _all_ the bitches, do you?"

He chuckled, taking a step forward that put them back in breath-sharing distance and lifting his arms to slide his hands in around Kenny's neck. "Just this bitch."

"What is this song?" Kenny murmured, humming over the constellation of heat crawling up his throat, radiating from his best friend's hands. He brought up his own hands to flutter over the inky forearms between them. 

"It's exactly what it says it is: _Ink my whole body, I don't give a motherfuck._ Wiz had some good stuff."

"You really don't give a motherfuck?" Kenny said, dropping his hands to toy with the bottom of Eric's shirt. He tugged at it, questing.

A gust of air hit his cheek as Cartman huffed and leaned in to drop this weird kiss just in front of Kenny's ear. "Listen for a second," he said.

So he listened. And he didn't know _what_ he was listening for exactly until half-way through a verse Wiz Khalifa's voice came into sudden clarity: ' -- _can't wear a shirt, the bitches lift it all up --_ '

"Fuckin' -- _Je_ sus, Cartman." Kenny said, rolling his eyes. "Fine, that was cute -- now just, take it the fuck off, will ya?"

The shirt joined the sweatshirt on the floor and Kenny started biting the shit out of his lip. The sleeves went all the way over his shoulders, bridging over his collar bone in the front and over the larger bump of his cervical vertebrae in the back.

Kenny swore under his breath. "Can I -- ?"

"Do whatever you want. Most of these are yours too."

He finally brought his hands to Eric's shoulders, starting just where his pale skin turned cloudy-day green to begin winding up the labyrinth. It would take him _days_ to nail down the obvious bits, and much longer to trace out the hidden patterns beneath. "And the fireweed?" He asked.

"Okay, that one might just be a lame metaphor, or something."

Kenny laughed, and fully closed the distance to push his hand up into his friend's thick brown hair. He sunk his fingers into the longest parts at his crown and pulled until his head tipped back. _Fuck_ , Kenny thought, dragging his eyes over the full expanse of his throat -- and realizing that the ink at his collar held his attention for about half a second before the larger territory of pale unmarked skin became more interesting. Kenny used his other hand to pass his thumb over his Adam's apple, then press down on the side where he felt the sharp pump of the carotid artery. He surged forward to nip at the sections of bobbing cartilage until he felt Eric's chest rise with trapped breath.

"Whoa -- cute noise."

"Fuck you."

Kenny flicked his tongue out to the corner of his mouth, probed the idea around for a second. "...Right now?"

"Oh? You don't wanna gawk over my tattoos some more? Ask a bunch of bitch questions?"

He shook his head. "I can do that whenever I want -- right now, I'm horny. Hey -- are you?"

A pleased curve arrived in his best friend's eyes. "Hang on," he said, and Kenny got his arms around his neck just before he was lifted from the floor and backed into the opposite wall. Cartman pinned him with a forearm under his ass and his hips between his knees. His other hand braced against the wall by Kenny's ear.

"Shit, man, can you -- " Kenny swore as Cartman pressed forward and bit at his jaw. "Can you support my weight, like this?"

" _Eas_ ily," he hummed, and Kenny felt the vibrations all up and down his neck. He was spinning high and hornier than a stag in heat -- and his best friend's hips were bucking against him in a kind of sloppy rhythm that left him breathless. Meanwhile Kenny had both hands free and the opportunity to look _down_ on Cartman, which was new and thrilling.

" _Jesus_ ," Eric swore quietly, and pushed his lips up against the corner of Kenny's mouth again with a huge intake of breath. "Where the fuck ya _been?_ We coulda -- "

"Dude, the Kenny McCormick that wanted to have sex with you didn't exist until, like, 8 o'clock this morning."

He drew back, red eyes narrowing with amusement. "That Twomey girl -- she really make you that jealous?"

" _Jeal_ ous? No -- I don't think that's what this was, man. I don't usually wanna rip somebody's arm off and fling it across the room. I'm thinkin' she was bad news -- it was prob'ly my old superhero senses tingling."

"Oh-ho, so _that's_ what it was."

"O.J. as my witness." 

Cartman snorted into his neck: "You're a fucking riot, McCormick."

"You actually miss me?"

"You mighta been dickin' around, but I wasn't. _Two years_ \-- like, who am I s'posed to ride around with anymore? Fuck shit up with?"

"You, uh, didn't wanna take Filthy out hiking in Jefferson County?"

"I can hardly handle fifteen minutes with those fuckin' honkies, dude. Not to mention their taste in music... Seriously -- riding with them is like opening up a menu and ordering from a hundred varieties of turd. Even _I'm_ not lickin' _that_ plate clean."

Kenny laughed, finally lifted one of his hands to trace one of Eric's thick eyebrows. "I think you might be a music snob, bro."

He rolled his eyes. "If _that's_ what they call it now -- what the fuck _ev_ er. I don't care. I'm done drinkin' the fucking _Kool_ -aid."

"Shit, you've got these -- " Kenny brought both hands to his friend's face. "You've got these little _freck_ les, man."

"They've only been on my damn face for seventeen years -- how have you not noticed?"

"Guess I"m not usually at this angle," he hummed, brushing his thumbs over his cheekbones. "Or maybe I forgot."

Cartman's gaze narrowed suddenly, but if anything he was shuffling closer -- Kenny felt his lower back press flat against the wall. "What'you doing third-wheeling with Stan and _Ky_ le, anyway? You coulda been going with _me_. Instead I got these hockey bitches with _sand_ -bags for brains -- and they only wanna look at my arms and grab at my fuckin' wallet."

"Damn, yeah," Kenny said. "Dating girls is such a drag, huh?"

"I'm _ser_ ious," he insisted, crushing his hips against Kenny's in another long grind. "Like, whaddya supposed to _talk_ to them about, even? It's all -- it's all Juicy Couture."

"Eric, have you ever thought that -- " Kenny paused to sort of cough a shameful gasp over his friend's shoulder as teeth closed on the soft part of his ear just where it turned to cartilage. "Maybe -- you're hard to get along with?"

Cartman leaned back suddenly. He blinked a few times, then moved back in: " _Naw_ , that can't be it." Kenny felt Eric's mouth move against his throat: "Are you telling me -- I _did_ n't charm you up against this wall?"

Kenny guessed he had a point, there. _Sort_ of.

"Yo, I'm done with this," Cartman said suddenly, while stars bloomed behind Kenny's eyes and spun around the flurry of touch. 

"Uh?" He managed. Did he fuck up, somehow?

Then the arm under his ass withdrew -- Kenny slid down the wall a few inches before catching himself with an adjustment of his knees around Cartman's hips. "What -- "

"Help me, take off this, this fuckin' -- " Eric muttered, pushing at Kenny's parka. "I'm half fucking naked and you look like you're about to go shovel the damn driveway -- "

Kenny slipped his arms out of his jacket, then ducked his head to pull off his shirt and toss it to the floor as well. He resettled his arms over Cartman's shoulders as his friend's head dipped down to rest against his collar bone: "Hm," he mumbled. "Damn."

"Damn," he said again, and his arm slipped beneath him to shove Kenny back up the wall -- Cartman's breath hit his chest. 

"Wh-what?" Kenny said, squirming against the cold wall while his nipples hardened under the gusts of hot air. His hands were kind of shaking, so he pushed them through his friend's brown hair for something to do. He felt like he was about to be fuckin' _slaugh_ tered or something -- in his head were dueling currents of fear and hunger.

"Nothin'," came a low voice, and he felt the ghost of a nose-tip trailing up the center of his chest, then the flick of a tongue over the notch between his collar bones. "Just forgot what a slummy, Ralph Lauren model my best friend is."

Kenny stuttered a laugh, half-choked by nerves and endlessly surprised by his friend's penchant for backhanded flattery. He tightened his hands in the soft brown locks and pulled -- man, Cartman had great hair. He even had great hair when they were kids. How long had he been wanting to rake his fingers through it? Longer than he cared to admit, anyway.

Kenny pulled until Eric's face turned up to him, guessed his intent and let him slide down the wall a few inches so Kenny could press their lips together. This time he cataloged every second -- and when Cartman opened his mouth and loosened his control, Kenny moved his hands down to his neck, pressed at his jaw-line to get an angle, and moved _in_. Eric tasted like weed, mostly, and the slight tang of one of those orange-flavored Nos drinks. He probed at his tongue with his own, then clamped down on a strangled moan as he felt Cartman's hips move against him again. When he opened his eyes, Eric was grinning at him again, and Kenny almost returned it before remembering something. 

"Ralph Lauren models don't got teeth like mine," he said, leaning back. 

"No," he agreed. "Just you."

Eric pulled Kenny's head down to his with his free hand, stuck his lips to the corner of his mouth, and pushed his tongue in to track all along the jagged edges of Kenny's bottom teeth, then press an aggressive kiss against his upper canine. 

"Whoa," he said, pulling back with a smug sort of glare. "Cute noise."

Kenny felt himself blushing, and squirmed again. As spectacular as it felt to rut against his best friend while pinned to a fucking wall, he was about ten minutes past the uncomfortable boner phase.

"Hey, uh -- " Eric started, suddenly looking uncertain. "Where d'you want this to go? I never been with a dude b'fore -- but I'd be lying if I said I haven't been thinkin' about it since the first time you said _fuck me_ today. And you've said it about three times."

Kenny licked his lips, leaned forward to push his hands down over Eric's shoulder blades and then trace back up his spine. "I literally have nothing else on my mind. But -- could we not do it against a wall? I wanna move around."

Cartman laughed, hooked both arms under him and lifted Kenny away from the wall. "Fine with me."

Instead of dumping him on the bed -- which Kenny sort of expected -- Cartman turned and laid out on his back. Kenny sat up on his abdomen and immensely enjoyed the new view.

" _Yo_ ," he murmured, pushing his hands through his friend's thin brown chest hair and over his inked shoulders. " _Fuck_ yeah -- I'm all about this."

"Hm," Eric hummed, as Kenny took his turn walking teeth and tongue up his throat. "Hey -- you never said, really. Are we goin' together, now?"

Kenny huffed a laugh, brought his eyes to Eric's red ones and put his hands on either side of his head to lean down over him. He enjoyed a rush of power as his shadow fell over his best friend. "Sure, man. Of course. Thought you didn't care about labels."

"I _don't_. I just wanna make sure this can _hap_ pen again. I'm fuckin' -- fuckin' _done_ with girls. All they do is lay around and wait for me to do all the work -- "

"What'you _laugh_ ing for?"

"I'm sorry, just," Kenny snorted, moving his hands to brace against Eric's pectorals. "You are such a _rant_ er, dude, it's hilarious. I've never heard an adolescent male complain so much about _sex_ in my whole life."

"Whatever," he said, rolling his eyes and bringing his hands to Kenny's hips. "I'm just saying, if we can do this -- who the fuck needs 'em?"

"Yeah, yeah, well, first we gotta actually _do_ it, you know -- like, what if gay sex sucks?"

Cartman's eyes turned thoughtful, and the hands on Kenny's hips pushed at the knobs of bone, then his thumbs slid under the waistline of his pants. "Is it weird if -- hm. Is it weird if I say I don't care? Like, if it doesn't work I"ll just blow you or something."

 _Mmf._ Kenny thought, dragging his hands down his friend's abdomen and finding all the new hardness there, as well as some old softness around his belly. Eric's openness helped calm his nerves -- who cared what happened, anyway? They were best fuckin' friends. At worst it would become an awkward joke. "Damn, dude."

"What?" He said, watching Kenny's hands.

"I'm just," Kenny breathed, and dipped down to press an open-mouthed kiss right over his belly button. "Kinda turned on. A lot."

He shifted backward, passed his hand over the line of his friend's jeans and the hair that disappeared beneath it. Eric grunted suddenly. "Dude -- you're right on my dick -- "

Kenny shifted his hips again, and was rewarded with a groan. "Okay, fuck -- " he said, and lifted Kenny bodily away from him to roll over to the side of the bed and begin digging around in the nightstand. He tossed a bottle and a condom over. Kenny sat up on his knees and picked up the bottle. 

"K-Y?" He said, laughing. 

"Yeah?" Eric said, rolling back over and sitting up to pop the button on his jeans and sigh around the slight release of pressure. "It's just -- the stuff I whack off with. Oh, actually, it might be kinda tingly. I dunno, girls like it."

"Ugh, can we make a rule?" Kenny said, flipping the cap to sniff at the lubricant. "I don't wanna hear about the girls anymore, a'ight?"

Cartman crushed him with a half-smile, took the bottle and lowered Kenny to the mattress with a hand on his chest. "A'ight," he said, too gentle. Head-spinning gentle.

"I gotta take these off," he said, flicking at the button on Kenny's pants. 

"Uh, yeah -- yeah." Kenny said, and whether the majority of his blood was in his face or his crotch, he really couldn't say. 

He'd barely kicked off his pants and shorts before Cartman was settling between his legs, and this time it was his shadow that fell over Kenny when he leaned down to push their lips together in a slow, open-mouthed kiss. Kenny sunk into it, slung an arm around his friend's neck to hold him in place, and barely noticed the movement of Eric's hands until he heard the _clack_ of the cap on the K-Y opening and a sudden slick grip on his cock. Kenny lost motor-control in just about every part of his body and just sort of breathed over his friend's mouth. 

Cartman chuckled low, moved his hand in a steady rhythm as Kenny went slack-jawed and almost limp trying to control himself; the sight of the tattooed arm flexing over his cock was almost what threw him over -- Eric bit down on Kenny's lip until he managed a few shuddering breaths and a whine.

"This," he tried, stumbling down the winding pathway to conscious thought. "This is okay."

"Here, just -- hold on to me for a second, huh?"

There wasn't much else Kenny could even _do_ at the moment, but he tightened his hold around his shoulders anyway as Eric moved him up against the pillows into a half sitting position and knelt between his legs. A thumb passed a little roughly over the head of his cock and Kenny tried to muffle a moan against his neck.

He vaguely heard another _clack_ , then a change in temperature as Eric's left hand took over while the right slipped down to his balls, then probed at his ass -- Kenny was in the middle of a deep breath with the first finger slid in.

He tried desperately to relax around the strange intrusion, but it wasn't like anything he'd felt before, and his lungs were already bunched up in his throat over the movements of Eric's left hand on his dick. The burning of his full-body horny-high was thrown into an incendiary state by the tingling, tickling sensation of the K-Y. He suddenly fell against his friend and shuddered.

"Uh- _huh_ ," Eric said, chuckling a little on the nervous side. "What the hell was that?"

"Pros -- " Kenny gasped. " _Pros_ tate."

"Oh, okay. Right here?"

At another crook of the finger, his vision damn near whited out and and he shuddered again. "Dude, you gotta slow down if -- if you want this to last."

"Got it, got it," he hummed, and the hand on Kenny's cock slowed to a stop to grip at the base while another finger worked slowly into his asshole. "Just tryin' to map shit out, you know?"

" _Jesus Christ,_ " Kenny swore, and closed his teeth around the ear closest to him as those damned piano fingers pushed around inside him. It was so fucking bi _zarre_ but he was so hard he didn't think he'd even _no_ tice if he came in the next three _sec_ onds -- 

"How, uh -- how you doin'?"

Kenny released the ear and pushed his nose into the tousled brown hair above it. " _Fuck_ me, dude." He hissed.

"Huh-huh," The asshole chuckled. "Never heard it put quite like that before."

Kenny couldn't find words so he moaned his complaint. He was afraid he wasn't going to last -- like, he really wasn't going to last another _min_ ute like this. He felt cold wash over him as Eric pulled his fingers and moved away to kick off his jeans, then heard the distant tear of the condom wrapper and another _clack_. Cartman returned to bite again at his lip, then lifted Kenny's arms back over his neck. 

"Hey," he said, tracing Kenny's asshole, slick and tingling with K-Y lubricant. "Ready?"

"The _fuck_ should I know!" He gasped, feeling the tip of his friend's cock take the place of the finger.

"Is this even -- " Kenny stumbled, swore, swept his hands over Eric's inked shoulders and then hooked them back around his neck. "Is this even _pos_ sible?"

"Sure it is," he responded, voice strained as he began pushing slowly in. "Remember that fuckin' _Bono_ -sized shit Stan's dad took when we were kids? Broke the -- broke the world record, nearly?"

Kenny groaned, this time with disgust. "Uh- _huh_ , boy, that was the last thing I wanted hear -- I was about to come five seconds ago but now we're gonna be here till -- _uh_ \-- till next week. You really know how to kill a boner."

The hand on his dick slid up suddenly in a long pull that tugged at Kenny's foreskin a hair too roughly, and he grunted, accidentally tightening his muscles around Cartman's dick.

" _Shit_ , man," Cartman said. "Fuckin' re _lax_ \-- I'm not going anywhere like this."

"Where the fuck _are_ you, anyway? I mean -- you gotta be almost _there_ by now."

"Halfway," he grunted, and moved his free hand to brace against Kenny's lower back.

Kenny forced himself to relax, even closed his eyes to breathe slowly out his nostrils. The lubricant was doing it's job -- but it wasn't so much pain he felt as just an incredible _pres_ sure. _Cartman's big,_ he thought, and lifted one of his arms to wipe at the sweat beading on his forehead. _God-damn_. 

Suddenly the movement reversed, and Kenny snapped open his eyes. "What're you doing?"

Cartman stilled. "Uh -- I was gonna start moving. Should I wait?"

Kenny almost laughed. "Motherfucker, wait a hot fucking minute, huh? I'm pretty sure my asshole wasn't _built_ for this, exactly."

"...A whole minute, for real?"

He barked a real laugh, then bit -- really _bit_ \-- down on the side of his friend's neck. He felt Eric's hips twitch, but he didn't move, just sort of heaved a low, pleading moan.

Kenny passed his tongue over the crooked line of teeth marks, then sighed. "Okay -- Okay, move."

He moved. The first few thrusts were shallow, halfway movements, then the hand on his cock slid up once more before leaving to clutch at Kenny's hip -- he was caught in the middle of a gasp when the next thrust hit against his prostate again and Kenny brought his teeth back down on Cartman's ear. The angle shifted as Eric moved up onto his knees and found a rhythm -- Kenny shifted his ass to help him hit the right point, then hung on while the speed picked up and Kenny felt himself coming the fuck apart. His friend's off-beat eloquence faded to grunts puffed against the side of his neck, and Kenny found a few colorful swears he hadn't used in a while -- 

Kenny felt the muscles in his limbs winding up like the motors on rubber-band cars; just when he thought they might snap, Cartman's hips snapped first, at just the right angle to shove at his prostate again. Kenny felt his release arrive like a fucking supernova of clogging, irradiating heat spreading from his navel and dispersing at his toes; and he was just clamping down on the noise -- and Eric's ear -- when his friend jerked his head away from him with a snarl and finished after a few more sharp, arrhythmic thrusts. Cartman pressed a strangled moan into his neck -- a long mewling sound like someone taking a punch in the nuts, or slipping into really hot water. Kenny thought it was fucking hilarious.

Eric followed himself up with a more self-conscious groan -- half-exhaustion and half-anger. "I think you pierced my _fuck_ ing cartilage -- you biting _brat_."

Kenny giggled like a hyena, letting his hands skitter over his friend's slightly sweaty back. Eric pulled out with a sigh, then hovered for a moment, pushing their foreheads together. Kenny stared at his half-closed eyes, and horsed around -- turning his head to dodge his friend's lips until the eyes snapped open, hard and red.

" _Ow_ \-- !" Kenny yelped, and nearly cracked their heads together sitting up to rub at his ear. 

"Yeah?" Cartman growled. "How the fuck does it feel? Little bitch -- I could probably pop a fucking earring in where your crooked fucking teeth landed."

"Yo, _ac_ tually... " Kenny said, turning Eric's head to eye the bit of blood at the tip of his ear. "You could pull that off, probably -- like, a stud, maybe, just up here."

He pressed his lips to the ear and cleaned at the tiny wound with his tongue while Cartman tied the condom off with a snap and tossed it in the bin beside the night-stand. "Right, well -- either my Spidey abilities are kicking in or I've got your sticky fucking cum all over me."

"Guess you don't need that blow-job then, huh?" He continued, cocking one of those stupidly devastating grins at him.

"Jesus, man -- I need an hour, at least."

Eric finally lured him into a proper kiss, and Kenny swayed into him, feeling higher than he'd ever been in his life. "Or five minutes, maybe," he chuckled as his friend pulled away.

Kenny was still in a loose-limbed, post-orgasm daze when he felt Eric slip from the bed and then pull him into a familiar hold -- Kenny looped his arms around his neck and pushed his legs against his hips as Cartman moved across the room and kicked at the towel under the crack of the door. "Man, good thing no one fuckin' _lives_ here," he muttered, and pulled the door open to shuffle across the hallway. Kenny mumbled a nothing-response into his neck, then blinked open his eyes under the lights of the bathroom. 

Eric set him on the sink counter and set about hopping into a pair of sweatpants from a small laundry rack. Kenny leaned over to pluck some tissues from a box over the toilet to clean up some of the excess lubricant.

"You want me to -- grab your pants, or something?" He asked, wiping at the mess on his stomach. 

"Mm," Kenny thought. There was a numb-ish pulsing building up in his legs. "I don't wanna wear pants. You got any more sweats? Some from when you wasn't six feet tall, maybe."

"None that'll fit _your_ scrawny ass..." He said, but turned to address the rack again. "You talk so _stu_ pid after sex."

Kenny was just dropping the tissues in the bin when a pair of gym shorts flew at him. "Try those."

"Hey," Kenny said, after fumbling his feet into the shorts and managing to shimmy them over his hips. He rocked back and forth on the counter, watched his best friend rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Hey," he said again, reaching out until Cartman drifted closer. Kenny roped him in with an arm around his neck, bobbed his knees against his hips. "That was good, though, right? Better than the bitches?"

"You think so?" He said, a grin biting at the corners of his mouth. "I thought we weren't s'posed to talk about them anymore."

"It was good though, right?"

"Mhm, yeah -- it was good." His hands swept up and down Kenny's sides. "You wanna look at my Mazda now?"

Kenny laughed, pressed his lips to the corner of his friend's smile, and pulled away to grin back at him. "I really missed you, man."

###### 

By some miracle -- brought about by a restless night of sleep, probably -- Kenny got to Physics class _early_ the next morning. Wednesday was as pale and gray as Tuesday, and Kenny locked on the red shape occupying his and Kyle's usual table in the very back. He slid in beside him with a sigh, and rested his chin on his hands to stare at his best friend.

"Hey," Kenny said. "You got any more gum?"

Cartman grinned like the fucking devil and leaned down over the table beside him, pushing a hand underneath his hood to slide in around the back of his neck and reel him in close. Their lips crashed together and -- Kenny really should've been expecting this -- Eric pushed his tongue in his mouth almost immediately. When Cartman pulled back, his hand stayed -- so Kenny couldn't throw his hood up against the blood rising to his ears. 

"Did ya _have_ to do that, right here?" Kenny muttered around his borrowed gum, trying to ignore the riot of whispers filling the back of the class.

Cartman shrugged. "Do I look like I give a motherfuck who sees? I could fuck up anybody in this room -- they could come at me all together."

Kenny shook his head, couldn't bite back a smile. "I know, just -- now all these fuckheads are gonna be guessing about our sex life, and -- "

"Whacking off to it, probably," He said, flicking his eyebrows at him.

It was a spectacularly difficult class to follow. Kyle was forced to sit at the table in front of them with Twomey, but even his despairing side-eyes didn't stop Cartman from horsing around. Kenny was forced to accept that being in love with his asshole best friend would feel just like being bullied.

"Hey -- " Eric murmured into his ear. "Say that again? Say it one more time."

"Hm?" Kenny cracked his eyes open. "Say what?"

"Tell me you love me."

Kenny sighed, cursed his scattered thoughts. "I love you, dude," he said, rolling his eyes. "And I'm still not going to your stupid games."

**Author's Note:**

> i guess this is kind of an alternate universe of Wisdom Teeth


End file.
